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by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Just a cozy snapshot of a Friday night.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stregatrek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stregatrek/gifts).



On one of the last October days in 1954, the sun was losing itself in a blue white haze and the trees were becoming shadows against the sky. Birds hurried across the fading blue spaces as if rushing to meet or beat a curfew and the smell of rain drifted in like a promise. It was not proper scarf weather, not yet, but, returning home from work, Charles smiled for the promise of it. He looked good in scarves, Max looked better still, and the proliferation of the things in their closet had led to some pretty innovative play. 

Stepping out of his shoes, he took in the scent of warming oil and onions, felt his lips tip up in another smile as a burst of laughter caught his ear. Something modern and silly and pure fun was spinning on the record player and Maxwell dipped in and out of song, voice rich in a way that Charles valued past all the money he had or had ever possessed. Honoria laughed and applauded and Charles entered the kitchen to find a pleasing chaos of cutting boards covered in diced onions and tomatoes, drawers flung open, and colorful dish towels (Max  _ loved _ silly dish towels) hanging off of the backs of chairs. 

“Hello darlings,” he said, removing the family cat, Fourth, from the island on which he “was not allowed” - a dictate which he seemed to take as a sort of secret mission to colonize. “Whatever are you creating?”

“Sh-sheet pan nachos,” Honoria said, kissing his forehead and pressing the remains of her wine into his hand. “How was your d-day, Ch-Charles?”

He closed his eyes a moment. “Difficult. Better now.” Shedding oven mitts he had been using to manipulate a set of cast iron pans he treasured and treated with a care usually reserved for living things, Maxwell came close enough to lean into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. Charles smiled into his dark hair. The cynical part of his mind believed that Max ought to be over him by now, sick of him, but the former Corporal still took his cologne into his lungs like the scent of a good cigar, still made a soft sound of welcome just for his ears, still shook with happiness at his touch. 

“Go get cleaned up, baby. We’ll be finished up here in about twenty minutes.”   


Charles went happily, knowing Max would have placed something comfortable for him to change into in the bathroom already, along with a soft, worn towel and the handmade soap his mother sent. In the early days of their cohabitation, Charles had employed a housekeeper, but Max liked taking care of him too well to leave it to other hands. 

When he descended the steps, dinner had been arranged before the television - a middle class custom Charles only tolerated on Thursday nights. “Happy Friday Eve!” Honoria declared, raising a glass. 

It made Charles laugh as it always did. “For people who work almost entirely from home, the two of you do treasure your weekends.”

Two stunned faces regarded him then, mouths turned down, a little hurt. Klinger was the one to venture an explanation. “ ‘course we do, Major baby. That’s when  _ you’re  _ home.” 

It stunned him right into silence. He looked around the room at his little family - Max and his sister and his ridiculous namesake cat (full name: Charles Emerson Winchester IV) - and shook his head at blessings unearned and undeserved. 

Honoria rescued him by teasing Max. “Are y-you always g-going to call him that, darling? He w-was only co-commissioned for t-two years.” 

“It’s who I met him as.” He patted the other man’s knee. “Can you imagine me calling you ‘Charles’ way back when you first got there, Major baby? You woulda had me thrown in the stockade, probably.” 

Charles sighed. “If you had added the second, unique part that my rank has acquired, I might have. By Christmas, you had full rights to the familiarity of my name, little use as you made of it.”  _ And by New Year’s you were beneath me, crying out my name like a prayer for peace or a benediction.  _

Honoria clapped her hands; she loved the Christmas story. Toes painted by the very man she nudged with them, she maintained, as she always did, “Y-you should have s-stayed and eaten with h-him.” 

Max just shook his head. “I already saw him outta his shell. He couldn’t have handled anything else.” 

Charles pressed a hand to his forehead in mock dismay. “In this analogy I am what? An exceedingly fragile crab?” 

“You’d be a real pretty one,” Klinger said loyally. “A blue one.” 

“That Christmas feast was only a little less eclectic than this. Cherry wine with nachos?” He wrinkled his nose. “ _ Cloyingly sweet  _ cherry wine at that?” 

They had expected him to complain; it was part of the fun. They also knew, secretly, that Charles counted on them to break him free of the rigid rules he had created for himself and upheld too long. Odd wine-food combinations might make for but a small rebellion, but he appreciated their playful touches. He, in turn, kept them from getting scurvy by making sure their meals included vegetables and fruit. (Max and Honoria were both blessed with the type of metabolism that allowed them to exist on sugar without gaining weight - like hummingbirds - and he envied them even as he endeavored to introduce foods that were not processed). 

“A l-little sweetness is a g-good thing f-for a crab,” Honoria told him. 

They ate and chatted and the television’s hum and glow was largely ignored. Charles found himself withdrawing into himself to observe again and resisted thoughts about crabs and shells to be thankful, instead, that he had gained the type of life - and a family - which he never could have imagined. Family had always been a source of pain for him. He had been taught (some of the lessons edged with brutality) that Winchesters were not like other people (effectively cutting him off from any support he might have had).  _ Then  _ he had been informed that he wasn’t good enough to  _ be _ a true Winchester, leaving him totally alone, except for Honoria whose love he had credited to a sort of Stockholm syndrome; he had protected her, so she was stuck with him. Now… now… he was embarrassed to feel something very like tears burning at his eyes. 

As if their souls really were as caramel spun and tangled up as Max seemed to believe, Charles looked up to find Maxwell looking at him as gently and happily as he had that long ago Christmas when he had allowed the Major to see such regard in his eyes that Charles had been humbled by it, knowing it was undeserved.

As if sensing these thoughts, Max patted his hand.  _ I taught you better than that, Major baby _ , his eyes said and Charles knew that if he reached for him later in their shared bed, Max would repeat the lesson - eyes riveted on his to see it sink in, hands and mouth worshipful, down on his knees in the prettiest and purest act of prayer Charles had ever seen, voice breaking on each breath as he alternated between supplication and praise. He said the most beautiful, unbelievable things in such moments - and Charles had to believe them ( _ oh, Charles… my Charles, oh God you’re so beautiful, baby _ ) because in such moments Max was not receiving and overwhelmed by his care - he was caring  _ for  _ him, untouched and yet rapture-trembling before him, at the sight and feel and presence of him. 

As the hours unwound, Max cleared the dishes and found dessert, and Honoria dozed on the couch, idly flipping through a novel she was trying to read. She and Max went to the library every week, and, though he was pursuing no formal education, she helped him find out about things he wished to know for himself (fashion, the politics that gotten their country involved with Korea) and things he wished to know because Charles knew them (literature, art). She was a wonderful teacher, Charles had been surprised to learn - though Max seemed to regard her as something more of a muse, a semi-goddess who had stepped down from on high to explain the Major’s classical allusions and continental tastes. 

Of course, if the truth were told, Max’s favorite method of learning was to have Charles read to him. He loved that voice and would lay hours in Charles arms even if the material was naught but medical articles; it was terribly flattering, and Charles had left off reading to kiss him more than once. 

By the time true dark had fallen on porches that would soon bear lighted jack-o-lanterns, Honoria was asleep. Max loved to make and to buy blankets; he tucked a soft throw around her with a care that nearly matched that of her true brother. 

Watching him, Charles smiled. As they walked upstairs together, he said, “You make me fall in love with you, anew, Maxwell, all of the time, in a hundred different, tiny ways.” 

To his surprise, the younger man winked. “Have to. It’s how I plan to keep you.” 

“I think you needs must - I’ve neither the intention of allowing you to set me free, nor the ability to survive out of reach of your smile, or long away from those eyes of yours.” 

They sat together, hands joined. “I need you,” Charles went on, “for cherry wine with nachos and throwing popcorn at the television screen. For your costumes and the deep comfort you bring me. To read to and to treasure and to touch. I… I never found much in myself to take pride in outside of surgery and an ear for music… but there must be so much more and better than I guessed if it earned me you.” 

Klinger had never needed to be told this; he’d been well aware that all that Winchester stuff covered up a lot of insecurities. He’d seen how sad and closed off the Major had been… and he’d set out to win him for good and for always. “I still wake up a couple times a week and can’t believe I’m here,” he told Charles, then. 

“Home from Korea, you mean?”

“Home. Yes. With you.” 

“You will always, always have a home with me. You lived in my heart almost from the first hour of our meeting.” 

And that night he slept easily with the sound of Charles’ heart beating just under his ear, just under his dreams. Charles lay awake to count his blessings, radiating a feeling of quiet peace. 

End! 

  
  
  
  



End file.
